16 Sylvanus, Part I: Waker of the Winds
by Amorphous Blue Blob
Summary: Quasi-novelisation of the Wind Waker. Sylvanus is the history of a world, in four parts. This is just posted as a placeholder. See my profile for details.


**Since this has decided to be my _magnum opus_... I will dedicate it to Apollo, because I said that I would. Help me to do this well, please...**

_**Sylvanus, Part I: Waker of the Winds**_

**Prologue: Link's Awakening**

Link awoke with great reluctance from exciting dreams about combat against hulking monsters, eased into wakefulness by a childish girl's voice. Immediately visible was a wooden railing, and beyond it, through the gap in the railing, the rich blue of the sea. _Now_ where was he, and how had he gotten here, and when had he fallen asleep? Had the monster caught him a blow while he was listening to Saria? Everything was muddled, and forming coherent thoughts was _hard_….

"Big Brother!" cried the girl again. Link sat up, and turned towards the owner of the voice. Strange. He didn't remember Saria looking like that. It was a little girl, with two blonde pigtails, in her preteens, and wearing a blue dress with flowers on it. Aryll….

"Wake up, Big Brother! Don't you remember what day it is today?"

Well, actually, no. At this point, he had no idea. Sometime in the spring, he thought, or maybe summer. It was in how he could almost _feel_ the world humming with growth.

"Poor Big Brother," Aryll said (how had he confused her with a figment from a dream? Sure, his dreams were vivid, but confusing reality and dreams was a Bad Sign. It was probably just the abrupt awakening). "You're still half-asleep, aren't you? Big Brother, it's your birthday!"

_What_! How had he forgotten _that_? Immediately, he shot to his feet, suddenly _very much_ awake. He ignored Aryll's giggling at his response, brushing dirt off his clothes and trying to see the sun, high overhead by now, and blocked by the sloped wooden roof of the lookout tower.

Now, he remembered climbing up here, as he sometimes did on clear nights when the stars were unobscured from clouds, and restlessness would not let him sleep. It had been precisely this fact—that today was his birthday—that had made sleep such an elusive commodity for him. Today, Outset Island's eyes would be on the past, and on him. Today, he became an adult—at seventeen years of age, he was now of the same age as the legendary Hero of Time when he had first appeared.

To celebrate, there would be a small celebratory dinner (so only because of how few inhabitants lived on Outset), and the tale of the legendary hero would be told, and much speculation would be made on whether or not any of the story were true, and what _had_ become of the legendary kingdom. It mattered not that he had memorised the entirety of the story—he drank it in, nevertheless. Old man Sturgeon had a head for details, and a strong narrative voice.

He captured the poignancy and the despair of those long ago people, the rush of hope at the Hero's arrival, and the crushing loss of the kingdom itself. Link hoped that being an adult did not make him too old for listening—certainly, he thought he'd caught Mesa lurking nearby during the annual invocation to the Hero, listening to every word of the Hero's story, and Link was too young to even remember when Mesa had become an adult.

"Grandma wanted to speak to you about something," Aryll said, noticing his return to full wakefulness, and fearing lest he become distracted by his thoughts—he seemed to be tending in that direction! Link, for his part, was reminded of his least favourite part of the celebration of coming of age: the requirement that the new adult wear the clothes of the Hero of Time for an entire day. It was bad enough that they were old-fashioned and outmoded—but, from what he could tell from reason and description, they were hot as summer sun, too. The lost kingdom had not been located in a hot and humid island, clearly—the Hero's clothes included a long-sleeved green undershirt, and brown trousers, and _then_ another layer on top of that.

Well, Grandma had told him to come, but maybe it wouldn't hurt—surely she would understand?—if he enjoyed his last few moments of free, non-sweltering, movement. Perhaps if he spoke to Sturgeon (she was always happy to see him learning), she would be inclined to be a bit lenient? Then, he came back to the startling discovery that he was now _an adult_, and with this memory, his decision of concern became a sign of deference to his elders, and love of family.

_And I shan't keep her waiting for very long_, he reminded himself, and, nodding acknowledgement of Aryll's words, he waved a brief goodbye to his sister, and climbed down the tall ladder back to the pier. He did like the high vantage that the lookout post provided, where he could see as far as it was possible to see, out over the endless expanse of the restless ocean. He did not think, _someday, I shall see every inch of those seas_. Instead, the knowledge of the sea's vastness brought everything into perspective, reminding him that the world was vast, and his troubles were comparatively small.

He ran back to the mainland via the pier, casting a curious glance at the trail up to the summit, and up to the bridge that connected the two island's halves, but he knew that the overgrowth made the path impassable. Sturgeon had told him that the important thing on the other summit (the Western Island, as they sometimes called it) was the long since blocked up Fairy Fountain, where the Hero of Time had once come to be cured of his exhaustion. But Sturgeon maintained that the fountain had closed long ago—healing fairies had not been seen since Sturgeon's youth. It was a pity, as Link was curious as to what a healing fairy—or any fairy at all, really—looked like.

He cast a backward glance at the steep incline, turned to wave to Mesa as he passed by the man's overgrown front lawn, and absent-mindedly stared up at the upper bridge over the channel, as he crossed to the Western Island via the lower bridge. Rose's elder son, Joel, was staring out in the same direction on one of the protruding black rocks that stuck up out of the channel.

He gave a low, murmured warning about his younger brother, Zill, who was intent on following Link around on his birthday, to get a better idea of what the experience would be like. Zill was only six years old, and Joel was barely any older, and they both rather idol-worshipped Link. If he were to have a moment's peace, he would do well to heed Joel's warning. He acknowledged said warning with a grateful smile, and continued across the bridge, where he saw Abe in Sturgeon and Orca's front yard, staring intently at a wild black pig.

_Hello? Can you hear me, Link_? he heard, although it was not hearing, per se—neither pig nor Abe so much as twitched. Nevertheless, Link was certain that he heard Sturgeon's voice. He looked up at the upper landing of the brothers' two-storey house, and there was Sturgeon, waving a knobby staff and looking quite excited.

_Yes, that's it! Look at me, and focus on talking from a distance. It's called telepathy. You can hear me, right?_

Link focused, giving the task his attention. He liked to think he was a quick learner. _Hello_?

_Yes, yes, I think you've got it!_ Sturgeon's beard bobbing back and forth with his movements, and tangling in that crooked staff were almost comical to see, but Link respected the old man, and was not inclined to laugh at his gleeful dance. He and Orca had both done well by Link and Aryll after their parents had died in a storm at sea while fishing. Now, when Sturgeon beckoned Link over, Link did not hesitate to come.

"What we were just doing—it seems you have a knack for it, eh?" Sturgeon said conspiratorially. "I thought you might. My books tell me that it was a trait certain of those with long ears—like yours and your sister's—have as a natural gift—not that you don't need to practice! Very useful for when you need to sneak about with someone unnoticed, I wager—not that I'd know anything about that."

The old man sounded strangely uncomfortable at the end of his speech, but before Link could think too hard about it, he continued. "Well done, I say. And happy birthday to you, Link. Be a good boy—er, man—and don't keep your kind grandmother waiting. I'll still be here to practice with when you get back."

_I'm sure she'd understand if I spent only a little more time to myself, surely?_

It was an effort communicating with mind alone.

"Don't make your grandmother worry about you," said Sturgeon, in an oddly ominous voice. Whatever threat he might have continued against Link, however, was dislodged from his mind by the sound of a thud of something against wood, and the shaking of his house. Orca, Link thought, practicing combat. Sturgeon shook his staff as if the man were in front of him, and began to yell at his younger brother. Link took the opportunity to pull open the door to Orca's quarters of the house, and to enter.

Orca greeted him with a solemn look, calm as if Sturgeon's voice—still audible if muffled by the wood of the structure—were not at all audible even to the smaller, more rounded ears possessed by Orca. "Ah, Link, happy birthday to you. I see you have not yet donned the clothes of the Hero.

"Have you come to train with the sword? I admit I find it reassuring that one, at least, among us still thinks it valuable to know how to defend himself and others, and it is especially important in view of the lesson meant to be exemplified by the celebrations we observe on our birthdays. But, nowadays, it seems that we have grown complacent, and forgotten that the Hero of Time did not fully defeat the evil. On this day, a man ought to be training to protect himself and others, but in these peaceful times, they think that I am a foolish old man, prone to paranoia and seeing threat where there is none. But it is important! Especially on this day, have you come for instructions on the wielding of a sword?"

"Please teach me," Link said, giving a respectful bow to signify a beginning of a lesson. The others might think that Orca was just a silly, deluded old man, but he saw a wisdom in Orca's eyes equal to that of Sturgeon. It was a different sort of wisdom, but wisdom nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes worth of warm-up exercises and basic instructions later, Orca nodded in approval, and returned his spear to a vertical position, smiling and nodding. Link had rarely seen him quite so well-pleased.

"I thought you might come to see me, today, even before the true celebration. And I was right. I have a gift for you—the sword I once used in my youth. It calls out for you, recognising some sort of nobility in your spirit. Complete the attire of the Hero with one of his most important tools—the sword. I trust you to continue to work on your swordplay, and not to abuse this sword. You can return at any time, whether to continue training, or to show me what you have learnt, or merely to talk, you are always welcome here."

He held out a bandolier of blue, and sheathed in it, a short sword with a plain brown hilt. Link bowed again, in respect.

"Thank you. I would not dream of misusing this sword," he said.

"There is no need for thanks," Orca replied. "You have earned this blade through your dedication to the art. Happy birthday, Link Sylvanus."

Outside, Link felt conspicuous, holding onto the sword by the bandolier, but he didn't want to put it on—first, that would make him feel _more_ conspicuous, and second, he would shortly need to change his clothes anyway.

He continued to think as he tiptoed past Zill's point of lookout, glancing with bated breath up the slope to Rose and Abe's house, next to which slope Zill stood. He very nearly bumped into Sue-Belle, Sturgeon's granddaughter, doing this. She had filled a jar with water from the covered well near the path, and was carrying it to her grandfather, but she stopped to smile and to say hello. She had turned seventeen a couple of years ago, but girls did not go through the same celebration as boys did when they came of age. Link was briefly inclined to envy her.

Still, given a choice between Zill and the clothes of the Hero, the clothes seemed the lesser torment. Maybe they weren't as bad as they looked, after all. Grandma was practically a professional seamstress, of the sort he'd heard lived on faraway Windfall Island.

Opening the door to his own home, now, he gently set the sword, bandolier and all, on the floor in the corner. From the entrance, he could clearly see the second storey. Grandma stood there, back turned to him, facing the plain wooden shield hanging on the wall. It was, as she had told him several times, a tradition to hang the family shield on the wall. In bygone days, it had been a sign of peace and prosperity, which were now the norm.

He climbed the ladder to the second storey, and Grandma immediately thrust the stack of clothes into his arms. Perhaps it was his imagination, but they sure _felt_ heavy. He was still staring at them in despair when Grandma spoke:

"Ah, how swiftly the time flies. Can it already be your seventeenth birthday, Link? It seems only yesterday you were just a little baby—and now look; you're an adult! I'm sure you'll look very mature in the clothes Grandma made for you. I know they can be a bit uncomfortable—you should have heard your father protest!—but it's only for one day, sweetie.

"Remember what they symbolise. This is an important tradition, dating back to the very beginning of Outset's settlement. Just like hanging the family shield on the wall. And it's especially important for us to observe these customs, for the family shield belonged to the Legendary Hero himself! That's right," Grandma said proudly, noticing his astonished look. "Our family descends from the Hero of Time himself! So wear those clothes with pride!"

Speaking thus, she descended back to the lower storey to resume cooking. He had the strange sense that she could tell when he was coming, sometimes. Surely, she hadn't waited on this upper storey for however long it might have taken for Aryll to find him, wake him, and get him to finally come home.

Link went over behind the bed curtains, to his bed, for some place to sit and try to understand the foreign garments. Soft brown boots were carefully set upright on the floor nearby, the brown belt with its curious spiral design laid carefully on top. The dark green sleeveless tunic was set next to him, leaving behind the grass green long-sleeved undershirt and brown trousers. The pointed hat of the same colour as the tunic required some thought, and perhaps he would even need help putting it on. He set it atop the tunic, and then began to switch out clothes.

The bright orange pants he was accustomed to were replaced by the brown trousers, leaving him in his bright, sky blue shirt. The trousers were reassuringly loose-fitting and cool, and he felt a bit bolder to the idea of the rest of the outfit. The long-sleeved shirt was unfamiliar in its softness and flexibility, but not as warm as he'd expected. And somehow, the weight of the green tunic was reassuring. When he had pulled on his boots and buckled the belt, he folded his old clothes—his everyday clothes! It wasn't as if he were keeping the ceremonial outfit!—and picked up the hat.

Obviously, the end with the brim fit over his head, somehow. He tested the natural give of the fabric, and found it severely lacking. He suspected that the only way to possibly attach the hat was with a glimmer of the almost forgotten gift of magic. He considered asking Grandma for help.

At length, he managed to stretch it over the top of his head, and even to work at the brim, pulling it down over his hair to help keep it in place. It did not feel as if it would stay, but it waited until he had found Grandma before coming undone. He couldn't tell quite what she had done, but he was almost certain that it was, indeed, magic.

He came down from the second storey, and again was fussed over by Grandma, but now he was actually thinking about the fact that, up until this point, no one had told him or Aryll of the non-small detail that his ancestor had been the Hero of Time. He might have confronted her about it, but not only was he a rather non-confrontational sort of person, but there was also the fact that it was still the day of his coming-of-age, which had a religious sort of quality to it. It would not do to corrupt the proceedings of the festivities by introducing unwarranted strife. He could always ask her tomorrow, right? That day had no religious significance.

Instead, after she had fixed the hat on his head, he let her send him off to find Aryll and bring her back to the house to help Grandma. Link already knew where he had last seen her, and, as it was her favourite place on the whole of the island, it was doubtful that she had moved from the lookout tower.

Heading back towards the wooden bridge, he could clearly see the seagulls flocking around the height of the lookout tower—the clearest visible sign of Aryll's presence, with the sun high overhead, and her dress the same colour of the sea.

"Are those the clothes of the legendary hero?" she asked without preamble when his head at last graced the top of the ladder, and he had come to stand with her by the railing. "They look like they'd be pretty hot to wear…."

Link shrugged—the unfamiliar outfit took some getting used to, and the slap of the sword on his thigh felt like it would surely bruise it, but at least the outfit wasn't as warm as it appeared—and the extra layer helped to provide some cushioning. All told, it could have been much worse.

When he told Aryll this, she looked at him incredulously, but smiled. "Well, anyway. I still haven't given you a birthday present. Close your eyes and hold out your hands!"

Link raised an eyebrow, but did what he was told. Technically, he knew, he was supposed to wait until the official ceremony—which was why no one had given him anything yet except for Orca. It wasn't an official or religious rule—only a custom, and, while Orca was rather dismissive of anything that didn't show its utility, and saw no point in waiting to give a gift that was more useful given earlier, most people would observe the habit, even if it only didn't occur to them to give him something earlier.

A heavy weight suddenly weighed down his hands, and he resisted the urge to open his eyes to see what Aryll had put there before she told him to open them, knowing she would scold him if he didn't listen. It appeared to be some sort of tapering object, thick on one end, and thin on the other, with a knob on the side….

Despite himself, his eyes flew open, and he stared at the brown telescope in his hands. An out-of-the-way settlement like Outset didn't have very many imports, and this particular one was an heirloom from their Grandfather, to whom the sailor who was 3's father had given it, who had put in at Outset while touring the Great Sea, and had left again before realising that the woman who had taken him in and provided food and shelter was pregnant.

She had never seen him again—it was quite a sad story, to Link's mind—but he had left her with the telescope (allegedly one of his most prized possessions), and a number of stories about Windfall Island, whence he hailed. Grandma was always rather wistful at this point, telling them that she had wanted to go to Windfall, as he had asked her to do, but, with the need to raise a child, had never felt the freedom to either leave the child behind, or bring him over treacherous waters to the distant island.

And here it was, the telescope of his grandfather, by far Aryll's most prized possession. For a moment, he was at a loss for words, remembering the sad story.

"But Aryll," he said at last. "This is your telescope! You can't give it to me."

Aryll sighed, shaking her head fondly. "I'm just giving you the use of it for one day, silly," she said. "So be careful with it! I want it back after this day is over…. Oh, look! The postman is here!"

Sure enough, standing before the communal island postbox was the rito postman, Quill. As Link watched, the birdlike man reached into his ivory canvas messenger bag, withdrew one or two letters, and carefully slotted them into the red box. Then, as if startled by something, he looked up into the sky, and, knees bent, he began to flap white-edged brown wings, hovering in place by constantly flapping his wings.

"The postman is acting a bit funny, don't you think?" Aryll mused, looking in the same direction as Link. "I wonder what… if you used the telescope—Oh, look! Up in the sky! If only I still had my telescope!"

Link took the hint, and set the eyepiece to his eye, pointing up at the sky above Quill. To include Aryll, he told her what he saw as the event unfolded—and event it was.

Unidentifiable as anything other than a shapeless mass at first, a huge black bird with golden tail feathers beat huge white tipped wings, soaring over the island. Immediately noticeable was a steel mask covering its head and beak. After that, the fact that it had apparently abducted a girl was impossible to miss, if you thought to check why its wingbeats seemed unusually stiff.

Link felt _something_, looking up at that huge bird—a sense of familiarity, although how this could be he was far from certain—he had never ever even heard of such a creature before. Nevertheless, he could have sworn he had experienced something like this before. Maybe in a dream!

A dark grey ball flew out from the direction of the sea, narrowly missing the bird, and Link unthinkingly turned the telescope in the direction of the cannonball's origin—a massive pirate ship, immediately recognisable as such with the square pirate flag of skull and crossbones on a black field proudly displayed. As he watched, another was fired from the cannon, and he followed its trajectory as it hit the bird cleanly on the side of its head, where the unnaturally strong grey mask protected it from the worst of damage. Unfortunately for the bird, in its surprise at being hit, it dropped the girl, who fell into the forest on the summit of the Western Island.

"Oh no!" Aryll exclaimed, as Link lowered the telescope. "That poor girl! Do you think she's hurt? You'd better go check on her, Link. Of course, you'd better have something to protect yourself with, in case there are more monsters on the summit. No one's been there for such a long time."

Link reassured her that he did, in fact, have a means of defence, and wholly agreed with her that it was the duty of hospitality of the islanders that he ensure that the girl was alright.

Having resolved to do this, he hastened back down the ladder, pausing at the bottom to wave to Aryll, and ran down the pier, not hesitating to set up the impassable Eastern Island slope. The sharp sword of Orca made short work of any barrier he couldn't merely push past, and he was careful to leave as much of the path undisturbed as possible, mindful as he was of the fact that there were still children on the island who might recklessly venture up the path seeking adventure, if they were not hindered.

Now, for the first time in his life, he saw the top of Outset Island. There was a high, unclimbable ledge to his left, a climbable ledge to his right, the ridge past the ledge to his left, and besides that, no railing or anything else to prevent him from falling a very great distance into the sea below, or being painfully dashed against the jutting pillars of rocks springing up between the two islands.

At the far side of the bridge was a dark archway leading into the forest on the western summit. This was where he needed to go. He took a minute to stare at the bridge, finding it in strangely good repair. He did not pause or hesitate any longer, immediately dashing across it, ignoring how it gave under his weight—his mind was firmly set on other matters.

As he approached the archway, the forest became visible beyond. It was, despite being open to the sky, through which the sun shone brightly, especially at this time of day, rather dark beyond the archway. Trees grew tall in the undisturbed woods, blocking out much of the sun. It made the going difficult. He could hardly tell where he was going.

He climbed a ledge, simply to get a better vantage, and found himself standing near a great tall rock, jutting into the sky. Before it stood a sign which, when read, was revealed to be indicating the location of the legendary fairy fountain supposedly once used by the Hero of Time. He wondered where it had gone—if it hadn't simply been covered up.

From this ledge, he found another short ledge, and from here, he could see the whole forest. He took a minute to take out Aryll's telescope from where it had disappeared inside his trousers pocket. He hadn't even noticed its weight, really.

He immediately noticed the girl—conspicuous on account of her blonde hair and bright white pants (and to a lesser extent, her bright blue shirt). These were very noticeable colours in the middle of a forest. She was hanging from the branch of a tree by an equally conspicuous bright red sash.

Link climbed up the ridge towards the tree from which the girl was suspended, evidently unconscious, judging by her silence and her closed eyes. He hoped to rescue her before she could realise what an embarrassing position she had landed in.

Just then, the forest grew eerily still and silent, and tension filled the air. An unseen wind from above stirred the upper branches of the trees (Link feared for the stranger, again), and he looked up, in time to see two smaller birds of similar appearance to the one before. Each carried a misshapen, pig-faced monster. Each monster was outfitted alike in open brown vest and trousers, making them seem strangely _human_ to Link's mind. But each carried cudgels, and he was not unaware of the dangers of blunt force. Reluctantly, he drew Orca's sword from the sheath at his side.

As the club of the first monster—he would later learn that they were called bokoblins—fell, he thrust upwards, under the arm wielding the club. As he watched, too stunned to do the smart thing, and redirect his attention to the remaining foe, the image of the monster folded in on itself, disappearing in a puff of smoke. A green rupee took its place. He ignored the money to focus on the second bokoblin, keeping the unconscious girl in the corner of his eye. Such an effort, to get to one girl! Who was she? How was she so important?

He ducked under a blow from the monster's club, barely grazing the monster with his answering blow. Mindful of the dangers of slipping and falling—why were there no twigs or leaves underfoot?— he withdrew, feeling behind him lest he be trapped by the ledge wall. His best guess led him to believe that the strange wood of the club would be too sturdy to cut through with his sword. But he had to admit feeling relieved when the other monster, defeated, had turned into smoke.

This monster, however, did not want to go quietly. He began to fear that the girl would awaken before he defeated his foe. A blow to the shoulder distracted the monster long enough for Link to deliver the mortal blow, but there was no time for watching the transformation this time. The girl had begun to stir.

He had hoped that she would never see her compromising position, but alas, that was not to be. Her eyes opened, and then widened, as she noticed her unusual point of view. He watched her, awkward and feeling a spectator, yet not daring to interfere. She squirmed, she jerked, she threw her weight around as much as it was possible for a girl to do. She was about his age, and rather muscular, for a girl, Link thought to himself. Between her muscle strength and her weight, she managed to snap the branch in half. And fall.

Link did not dare to do the chivalrous thing, and catch her.

As if it were inevitable that help should arrive only when no longer needed, a big, burly man—just the sort for, most probably, even _shaking_ down trees, appeared. His olive green shirt opened near the top to show that he even had the quintessential manly chest hair sticking out. The red bandana on his head might have been made from the same cloth as the scarf around the girl's waist, and Link unconsciously relaxed a bit, even before the man turned to address the much smaller girl. His speech was awkward and hesitant, insecure, and full of admiration.

"Miss Tetra, you're alright!" Link saw the girl raise an eyebrow at the overstatement. "We were so worried when we saw that bird drop you on the summit…."

The girl looked away, biting her lip as if thinking. "'Summit'?" she repeated. "You mean that bird dropped me _on top of a mountain_?"

The man seemed unsure how to respond. Link considered speaking up, but what would he say? In the end, he hadn't really been the hero. He hadn't saved the girl; she had rescued herself, and now this man—one of her associates, would be taking her back to where she belonged. She seemed to be his "boss", in a manner of speaking.

He was fascinated by the exchange, it was true, but it was like a play—readily before the eyes, but so distant. The glimmer of excitement, the promise of novelty that came with the arrival of new faces, was about to go. Things would return to normal. His curiosity would remain unsated, and he knew enough from stories alone that he ought to be glad of the return to peace.

But something had filled his heart, fighting those monsters. A sense of rightness, of belonging, as if this were what he had been meant to do. He watched the girl—the pirate captain?— beckon the big man, listen to her dire imprecations against the abducting bird trail off, and had the urge to stow away on the pirate ship. He firmly quashed the idea, reminding himself of his little sister, and his grandmother, and all the other people of Outset, who would surely miss him, and a sense of belonging—his love of his island—filled him instead.

Still, there wasn't any sense in _avoiding _the pirates, who hadn't noticed him anyway. He followed them back out to the sunshine, and smiled when he saw his sister waving to him on the wooden bridge. It looked sturdier now, safer, of no danger next to the monstrous creatures he had fought in the forest.

And then came the bird, swooping low, clutching Aryll in its talons before he could think, and, rather than taking the time to think, he rushed after her—raced right off the cliff!

For a moment, he hung suspended, wondering why he hadn't fallen to his death on the rocks below. Then he heard a vaguely familiar voice, a voice he had just heard, although it had never spoken to him before. It was the pirate girl—Tetra. The source of her voice was strangely close to his ear.

"You…idiot!" she huffed, obviously struggling with his weight. "She's… one! Falling…off cliff…won't fix…that! You…wanna die?"

"But Aryll…" he protested, watching the giant bird vanish into the distance.

"D'you think…she wants…you…t'die?"

Silence.

"Gonzo…haul'im up."

The burly man grabbed both of his arms, after a while of fishing around for the other one, and hauled a thoroughly embarrassed Link back onto the cliff. He stayed there, on his hands and knees, for a few minutes.

"You cost me my revenge on that bird," Tetra said. "You owe me one for that."

And she stalked away. Link ran after her.

**Chapter 1: Yo-ho-ho and a Bottle of Milk**

"You wanna _what_?" asked Tetra again. This time they were on the beach before Outset, the prow of the pirate ship filling their vision. Link stared at it, his mouth set in grim determination.

"I want to come with you on your pirate ship," he replied, coolly.

"You wanna _what_!" Tetra said, even louder this time.

"I believe that Sylvanus has made his intentions quite clear," said an unfamiliar voice. Link turned to find the source, and was surprised to find that the voice belonged to the very postman he had been spying on not even an hour ago.

"But…but…this idiot _twerp_, on my ship—who does he think he is?!" Tetra (_Captain _Tetra, Link reminded himself) blustered.

"He is a boy who has just lost his sister to that dreadful monster, and wishes to rescue her. Aryll is quite beloved on this island," the postman said.

Link was stricken speechless, temporarily, by the sudden interposition of a complete stranger in his affairs. And on his side, at that.

"And just why should I let _him_—" the captain very meaningfully did not use Link's name—"on board my ship?"

The rito postman glanced at Link with an expression that urged silence. "It is a fact worth noting that you owe him. Twice over, as a matter of fact. First of all, he rescued you from monsters that the monster bird had brought to the island. Secondly, it is because of you that his sister was kidnapped."

"I didn't see any monsters—"

"You were unconscious," Link hastily interjected. Tetra gave him a glare that suggested he was of value equal to, if he were lucky, a one rupee piece. The rito postman silenced him with a stern look, and Link blushed at how _childish_ he sounded. _And today, I am to be considered an adult_, he thought. Ridiculously, he wondered if perhaps, his birthday were actually several months hence, and had been misremembered. He felt a shameful child, the one who broke the cookie jar.

"It's not my fault that girl got kidnapped!" Tetra said, and Link was pleased to hear that she sounded defensive. He wasn't sure exactly how she was to blame, but if she were, then he would give her no quarter in the argument.

The rito postman crossed his arms. "Is that how you see it, Miss Fearsome Pirate? But we Rito hear many things, carrying the mail far and wide. We have heard the stories already, of girls across the Great Sea with long ears like yours being abducted by a giant bird. Outset Island is so far away that she would have escaped notice, had you not come. If it weren't for you, that bird, what kidnapped you, would not have come to this peaceful island, and that poor girl wouldn't have been kidnapped." He pointed directly at her as he spoke, emphasising his words.

Tetra frowned and Link could almost _see_ her think.

"Be that as it may," she stalled, but the rito postman, arms once again folded, interrupted her.

"No buts. The least you can do is to take Sylvanus to where his sister is being held captive."

"But I don't even know—" she began, but the rito cut her off again.

"She is being held in an old abandoned fortress far to the north. I believe they call it 'The Forsaken Fortress'."

The girl's eyes widened in what seemed to be genuine fear.

"'The Forsaken Fortress'?" she repeated. "I've heard rumours about the place. It's become pretty dangerous, hasn't it? And you, little boy. Do you want to do this? Are you sure you don't want to go crying home? Well, I'm not taking you unless you at least have something to _defend_ yourself with. It's common sense. You're going into dangerous territory; you need some sort of defence."

Link was tempted to point out that he had fought off two monsters with just the sword. He was tempted to bristle and point out that he was _hardly_ a little boy anymore. That was the whole meaning of the island clothes. Instead, he turned on his heel, towards the house he had lived in all his life.

"Wait here. Please, Mr. Postman. Don't let her leave without me. I'm not sure I'm a good enough swimmer to catch up to her ship."

The postman's eyebrows quirked, and Link thought he maybe caught a hint of an approving smile as he stalked past.

The two-storey cliffside home—his home all his life, which now felt taken from him—was not so very far from the sandy shore where the pirate ship lay moored. He passed the house of Sturgeon and Orca at a distance, sticking on the far side of the path, lest he gain their attention. Up the hill he climbed, wary, on the lookout for anyone who might note his passing. He passed, unnoticed and unseen, feeling as if the whole world had ceased to exist to him, or perhaps he had ceased to exist to the whole world, which seemed suddenly empty and unreal.

He climbed the steps up to the lower level of his own home, wanting to knock, and then roughly opened the door, hastening inside.

The shield was in plain view now, and he only had eyes for it. It was a very plain-looking shield, all things considered—not as fancy and ornate as he had expected from the shield of the legendary hero. The shields elsewhere in Outset looked much the same. Standard issue—the sort of thing mass-produced. Sturgeon's books said as much.

It was made of steel, but the front was crudely painted over in brown with some sort of design of red vines, and in the middle, a triple triangle, apex pointing down, two equilateral triangles on top, and one on the bottom, arranged so that they formed an equilateral triangle. The same design was on the doors of every home, but there, the triangles were black, not yellow. He wondered what significance it had. It must have meant something important, once. He had never thought about it before, and wished he could ask Sturgeon. He cautiously tilted the shield to the right, and froze at the small sound of it hitting the wall.

"Ah, so it's true, what they said," said a familiar voice, and Link's heart sank, for the voice belonged to his grandmother.

"Grandma…" he said.

"My poor, sweet, Aryll…kidnapped by monsters. That's why you came here for the shield. You already have a sword. The peace is ended, and you are going to war."

"Grandma, it's not like that," he said. He had wanted to be like the legendary Hero of Time, just like all the island boys had wanted, through centuries. Now, he just wanted Aryll back. That was the main thing. He couldn't bear the thought that his own grandmother see him as a warmonger, the way she always said of Orca. _He's a bad influence on you. Such a violent, brutal man_. She could no longer forbid him to visit Orca, but he ached for her approval— she was his mother and father, all the family other than Aryll that he had.

"No, no, I understand," she said. "A desire for peace has left us vulnerable. I know you just want to get Aryll back. Such a good boy. Such a sweet, thoughtful boy."

And his mind filled with memories of the times he had gone behind her back.

"Take the shield, Link," she said. So very quietly. "And bring Aryll back safely."

He nodded, and she reached up, short as she was, and easily lifted the shield from its place of honour on the wall. The ceremonial wreath now surrounded bare wall. It looked lonely.

He noticed a certain frightening _rightness_ about settling the shield on his back, as if it were _meant_ to be there, and the senseless fighting his grandmother so abhorred were what he were _meant_ to do. It occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw his grandmother. He considered giving her a hug goodbye, and then thought that that felt too final.

Instead, he jumped down from the second storey, so that he would not have to face her as he climbed down the ladder, would not have to see her face as she watched him leave.

He was at the door, about to open it, when he heard her speak again.

"Link…." He turned back to face her, as if he could not help it, but she was already out of sight. "Be careful. You come home safely, too."

He nodded, again, and stepped back out onto Outset Island. There, still on the shore, the pirate captain waited for him with crossed arms and tapping feet. Her hair was rolled up into a peculiar bun, secured on top of her head by means unseen. Her clothes looked cleaner. He wondered if she had really had the time to do her hair and change her clothes while she waited for him. Perhaps he just hadn't noticed her appearance properly before.

The rito postman was still waiting for him on the shore. Link wondered if he would be punished for shirking his duties, but there was no sense of urgency as the postman turned to face him.

"Link Sylvanus, there is little I can do for you here. However, if you ever find yourself in need of aid, come to Dragon Roost Island, the home of us rito. I'm sure our chieftain, a noble man, will do all he can to help you, if you tell him of your plight. At the very least, remind him that I said that we would help you. Although you might not remember my name, eh?"

The corners of a mouth nearly hidden under the triangular beak turned upwards in what might have been a smile.

"Don't worry; I'm not offended. We've had little speech enough, before. I am Quill. Tell him that Quill sent you, and he should listen. Good luck."

"Are you quite done with the sentimental goodbyes already?" asked the pirate captain, tapping her foot. "Or can we forget this whole thing? I see you got a shield, though. Can you even use that old thing? Are you sure it won't shatter into splinters? No? Well, this is your last chance to go crying home."

"Don't send him off! Don't send him off!" said a pirate boy of about fourteen, in a red-and-white striped shirt and a loose-fitting pair of blue pants and hat. "If he joins, I'm no longer the bottom rung of the ladder! Hey, new swabbie! I'm your new boss, Niko!"

"He is _not_ an honorary pirate," the pirate captain said, eyeing Niko's emotional display with distaste (he was still jumping up and down in excitement even as she began to speak). "Although, it might do him good. Okay, fine. While we're on board, you report to Niko. Do whatever he tells you, and don't cause problems, alright?"

"Yippee!" Niko cried, as Link nodded.

"And you, stop that. It's disgraceful. You're a pirate; act like it."

With that, she turned on her heel and boarded the ship via a gangplank that lowered down from the upper decks while they were talking. She walked up the narrow piece of wood with confidence, whilst Link followed more hesitantly. He wanted to go home already, but Aryll was counting on him.

Not long after that, the pirates set sail, hoisting up the main sail and drawing up anchor, and doing whatever else needed to be done—Link could scarcely follow all of the activity. His eyes kept returning to shore, where the islanders were made aware of their departure by the clanging of a great gong. He scanned the familiar faces with regret, trying to put a happy face on the situation as he waved at them. They already seemed far away.

But he very nearly lost his composure when he saw that Grandma had come out onto the deck she had used (according to her stories) to watch for his grandfather's return, decades ago. He waved as frantically as he could at her, and saw her wave feebly back. She seemed to be putting her best face on the matter, too. He kept it up as they set sail, further and further out to sea.

But he was driven out of his thoughts by Tetra's bored voice.

"How much longer do you suppose he'll keep this up?" she asked, ostensibly to Gonzo, the man who had followed her to the summit.

Suddenly self-conscious, just as he was sure she intended, he stopped waving, and frowned.

"What? You're such a baby. You go off to rescue your sister in a fanfare with ceremony like you've actually done something, and—are you crying? Seriously, it's not too late to throw you overboard."

"I'm going to rescue Aryll," said Link firmly, face set. Tetra did not seem impressed.

"Whatever. Look, keep out from underfoot, and go see what Niko wants you to do. Earn your keep. It won't take more than a few days to get there if things continue as they are; the wind's almost favourable."

Link could tell—he could just tell—that the wind was blowing northeast. He nodded—there was no way he was going to ask questions or complain. She already thought him pathetic and a baby; there was no need to feed the fire. He caught a brief look of surprise as he stood and made to go downstairs, to where Niko awaited, but he turned, as he approached the stairs to below decks.

"Thank you, Tetra," he said, giving a brief bow, and descended into the below without turning back.

He did get slowly used to life on board the pirate ship, but it was hard to get used to the constant jeers from almost every member of the crew. Only Niko seemed to like him, but apparently the crew at large had never heard of the legend of the Hero of Time, judging by the constant barrage of insults his outfit received.

Tetra and Gonzo, oddly enough, were the only other two pirates who did not mock him for his clothes. Gonzo, obsequious to Tetra, but hardly rougher towards anyone else, simply didn't have the temperament. But Tetra was an oddity. He seemed to have gained some modicum of respect, or perhaps he was an object of curiosity. He wasn't sure. No explanation he thought of made sense. He could never have a conversation with her without her implying that she thought he was a wimp, but—perhaps it was guilt?—she seemed to be taking the rescue mission seriously.

For his part, he was all too aware of his vulnerability and how much rode on staying in Tetra's good graces. He did not want to get on her bad side, and be cast overboard into the sea (although he began to suspect she would not actually do this; a lot of her gruff demeanour seemed to simply be a tough façade.

When Niko hadn't set him a task, and he had free time—which was almost only at night, when he slept, or at mealtime, he might occasionally try to speak to Tetra, but she grew increasingly irritable with him. He had to back down when she turned her pirate captain glare of disapproval at him. He understood, staying on board the ship, why the pirates respected and were somewhat intimidated by her. Nevertheless, he discovered that the journey was expected to last three days, that Tetra ran the pirates alone and that the Forsaken Fortress was located far to the North, and had once been the home of some small time rivals of Tetra's crew, but now seemed shrouded by an ominous force that brooked no daylight.

She did not seem to care to learn anything from him in return, and interrupted him more swiftly if he tried to make small talk with her than if he tried to discuss the mission at hand.

Niko, he knew well, only appreciated no longer having to do the most menial tasks of the ship; Link felt certain that, even during his short stay on board, his complete lack of skill at cooking had improved radically, as he learnt how to make the most of the pirates' preserved stores. Nor could he ever not appreciate his grandmother's hard work cleaning and tidying the house. The pirate ship was larger, it was true, but many of the tasks were familiar chores from home.

The oddest task was one that Niko finally had set up for him on what turned out to be the final day of their voyage. He claimed that this task was one that all pirates had to undergo when they joined the crew (Link was dubious; Niko seemed to be going out of his way to hide what he was doing from the rest of the pirates). Down below decks, in the cargo hold, raised platforms held up by rotating wooden posts rose up at various points throughout the room. On the far side was a ledge of about equal height, and a door in the middle, leading to a room Link had never been to.

As Link entered the room where the task was set up, he noticed barrels off to the sides of the room, and two switches on the raised ledge where he was standing. He reconsidered the task being a construction of Niko's own mind—how would he have hidden those platforms, and the switches?

Link had little time to contemplate the truth or falsity of the story before Niko's exuberant voice cut into his thoughts.

"There you are, swabbie! Behold, the super hard pirate crew entrance test! Only those who pass this difficult task are allowed to become pirates. You see that ledge over there?" Niko pointed to the ledge at the far end of the room. "Your task is to get to that ledge and through the open doorway before time runs out, and the switch resets itself. And how do you do that, you ask?"

Link hadn't asked, but Niko didn't seem to care. He took a running jump onto a platform in front of him, and turned back to face Link. "See, you jump from platform to platform. But it's not that easy. That next platform that I need to get to is too far to jump. So I'll just have to swing from the rope holding the lamps."

Niko had definitely not come up with this on his own. Link noticed the lamps dangling from ropes scattered throughout the room and began to chart a course to the other side of the room. It was good experience, he figured. You never knew what knowledge might come in useful—Sturgeon had taught him that.

He watched Niko grab onto the rope, carefully manipulate his body to bring the rope to a standstill, climb a bit higher up the rope (which remained stationary, to Link's surprise; the lanterns must be very heavy, to balance out Niko's weight); then Niko pumped out his legs, swinging back and forth, and the rope began to sway, and the timbres above to creak, but Niko paid them no mind, simply launching off when he had gathered enough momentum.

He landed on the platform hard, took a moment to catch his breath and to recover from the impact, and proceeded across the room.

"But be careful, swabbie. If time runs out, the platforms drop—" —an ominous ticking filled the room, as Niko ran through the door—"—and the portcullis falls."

A heavy grate fell down, obscuring Niko from view. Niko's voice carried through the square holes, however, unimpeded. "It will probably take you a year. One rough year, full of bumps and bruises. But if you make it sooner, I'll give you something, as a reward."

Link noticed that the platforms had sunk into the floor, and were covered by trapdoors. He looked at the two switches, and chose one at random to step on.

The platforms rotated upwards, and Link took a moment to wonder how that worked before running for the first platform. From there, the process seemed unusually easy. Niko had made the task seem very difficult, but he made it through the door, not only on his first attempt, but with time to spare.

Perhaps Niko had been exaggerating the difficulty deliberately, to make it seem more intimidating than it was? But he seemed genuinely surprised that it had taken Link such a short time. Take his stutter for example, when he congratulated Link, or the way he seemed to have to think fast about what Link's reward could be.

"I know!" he cried, excitedly, after several minutes of searching frantically around the storage room beyond the ledge. "Here!"

And Niko thrust a wallet full of rupees at him. "This wallet carries two hundred rupees! Isn't that a great reward? Aren't I a great… supervisor… guy?"

"It has money in it, already. Are you sure you should be giving this?"

Niko was one of the few people who were nice to Link, and Link didn't want to see him castigated by Tetra. Plus, Link already had a wallet, hidden somewhere in his clothes. He had forgotten about it until just now—and maybe he had left it back on the island in his haste? No, he was sure he had it.

"Two hundred rupees isn't much. It's my old wallet, the one I used before I was old enough to join the crew. I've lived on the boat all my life, you see, but—"

"Oi! Sylvanus! Get your lazy butt up here!"

Both of them jolted, perhaps each feeling a bit guilty, and Niko looked a bit pale in the lantern light. "Go on! Take it and go!"

Link suspected that there was no time for arguing. He stuffed the wallet into a pocket in his clothes, and ran out the door, and up to the deck of the ship. Tetra stood off to the left, staring out over the sea. "Took you long enough!" she snapped, rather unfairly. "Look out there—"—she gestured in the direction she had been looking—"We're here."

Link looked off to the left, where a huge…fortress…rose high into the sky. Three sets of searchlights constantly roved the surface. A nest up on a higher spire contained a giant helmeted bird.

He pulled out his telescope to look closer. "Look over there," Tetra said, before he could start scouring the outside of the base from top to bottom. She tilted the telescope down and to the right, and Link took a step back. "Sorry. Got a bit impatient. But do you see that window? How all the seagulls flock around the light? Didn't you say seagulls were drawn to your sister?"

Link nodded, and then gulped, lowering the telescope. "I think it's your best bet," Tetra said. "We're not going to get a clearer sign. Whoever rules this place won't advertise where the girls are being held, if he went through the trouble of kidnapping them."

Link quietly wondered how many people had come to rescue someone being held here. There probably were several victims, if what Quill had said was true.

Tetra was continuing to talk as he thought, and he came back to her words in time to be horrified. And rather scared.

"Don't worry a bit about this. We've got a ton of practice. It's really the very best way to sneak in undetected, and it won't hurt at all."

He had been told that something wouldn't hurt at all several times throughout his life, usually in relation to injuries that Sturgeon, or Orca, or his grandma had had to tend. She had always assured him that the alcohol he knew was about to be applied would not hurt at all, which did nothing to change the fact that it did. He didn't know what was about to happen, but he did know that it was going to be painful.

"Get in the barrel," Tetra instructed him, and he wondered when the navigator, a man whose name he had never gotten to know, but who had made his disdain for Link's clothes the plainest, had dragged a barrel up next to him. Had he been _that_ distracted?

"Don't worry; it's quite safe," Tetra reassured him, and both her tone of voice, and her words, increased his wariness tenfold. She had no right being so _amused_ by the situation.

But the alternative was facing her wrath, and—call him a coward—he didn't feel quite up to that.

He climbed into the barrel, and then clung to the rim as he was lowered into the mouth of the cannon? What!

"We're professionals. You'll be fine. Just find your sister and get out of there. We'll wait for you for one day—alright? Next sunset, we leave. So hurry up. That place is huge!"

"Three!" called the helmsman. Link could imagine the glee the man was experiencing at the thought of his impending misfortune. Link closed his eyes, and tried to calm down. "Two!" the same voice called. Link clung to the lip of the barrel, wishing he had more faith in the pirates to do this right. The walls looked very sturdy, and the barrel felt very flimsy. "One!"

He closed his eyes, and braced himself, and a moment later, he felt the wind rushing past his face, and almost forgot the danger for a moment. Perhaps this was how Tetra had felt, in the clutches of the great bird, back home on Outset. But the feeling of weightlessness was something _he_ found exhilarating. He had a fleeting wish that he someday might learn to fly—a ridiculous notion, but the air was making him giddy.

Then, the barrel made impact with the hard stone wall, and the wall was quite as hard as it looked from a distance and the barrel quite as flimsy as he had felt it. He smashed into the wall, the blow slightly softened by the barrel's impact, and then by its shielding wood, but it still hurt worse than anything he had experienced yet—he stifled a cry—and then he was falling backwards, back first, and the sword fell from its sheath, clattering to the ground somewhere far below, and he followed a different course, landing in a pond at the waterway entrance to the fort.

Professionals, ha!

He quickly swam onto a nearby ledge, and bent over on hands and knees at the water's edge, thankful that the impact hadn't killed him, and, although dripping wet, thankful even that he hadn't drowned.

Suddenly, his pocket quivered, and a voice spoke, muffled by the fabric. He had a moment's bewildered disorientation, and then he reached in, and pulled out a necklace he had never seen before, with a blue stone glowing inside. Within the stone appeared the face of Tetra, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that. Looks like our aim was a bit off."

"You're _sorry_?" Link repeated in a harsh whisper. "Thanks to your carelessness, I'm in the entrance to enemy territory with nothing but a shield. And how are you talking to me, anyway?"

"Well, well, well. So you do have a bit of gumption after all. But the harm's done. I saw your sword land on a ledge, somewhere up pretty high, but there seems to be a lot of activity there. It seemed near to the window where your sister supposedly is, so you're probably going anyway. Just retrieve the sword then, and hurry up, so that the guards don't find it. And we're talking via the stone I slipped into your pocket."

Link blushed scarlet at the realisation that he hadn't even noticed her do that. When had it happened? Far too much of his awkwardness came back; it was too difficult to remain angry with Tetra for a well-intentioned plan that had accidentally gone wrong. He turned away from Tetra to hide his embarrassment and discomfiture, but turned back when she continued. "Anyway, we're in this together, right? I did say I'd help you. So I'll be your guide. This stone allows me to see and hear things around you. Call it a sort of psychic connection. Got it?"

Link, remembering Sturgeon's lessons of a few days ago, nodded. "Well, with this, I can help you by giving you advice on rescuing your sister. For example, I'm suspecting that you'll find the path to the place where they're keeping your sister somewhere directly below the room, like in a tower.

"But you probably want to take out those searchlights first. So try to find a way up to the three lookout towers. It looks like there are monsters manning the lights, and they get up there via ladders. So be on the lookout, and I'll try and help out, too. If I have anything more to say, you'll know. Sorry, but that's the way the communication stones work."

Link put the stone back in his pocket, blushing again, and reached for the shield strapped to his back. It was something, at least, and he still had Aryll's telescope—he couldn't face the thought of telling her he'd somehow lost it.

He noticed an empty storage barrel sitting near the water's edge, doubtless to make it easier to refill, and hid himself in it, unsurprised, after his barrel-based disaster, to find that he fit into it easily. He began to crawl across a level central "square", relying on what little he could see through the slats of the poorly constructed barrel to let him know when the searchlights were approaching, and whither he was heading.

It was an arduous, painstakingly slow process, but he was kept on edge by the threat of what might happen to him if the monsters should notice that something was amiss, and he be caught. He avoided the tall double doors off to the left, thinking that if anywhere were to be the central base for the monsters, and a last resort path, it was the room beyond. Bright light seeped through under the door, which was barred from the outside. It would probably take too long to remove that bar and enter, anyway, and the searchlights never stopped.

Instead, he headed for a covered walkway, and the uncovered path leading upwards. He could only faintly make out where he was going, but it would be much harder for the lights to reach into the covered walkway, so it seemed a good starting choice.

Upon reaching the other side of the centre of the Forsaken Fortress, he eagerly removed the barrel from over his head, and hastened into the covered walkway, waiting for the searchlights to leave before daring to peek around to try to see where the uncovered path might lead. He even dared to creep around the side wall barrel-less, but quickly retreated under the covered path when he saw the searchlights—seemingly two different sets—sweep over the path. He hastily retreated back to the safety of the covered path, resolving to wait until he had taken out at least one of the lights before returning. He noticed that he seemed to be swiftly limiting his avenues of approach, and wondered if he weren't making a mistake.

The walkway had another archway leading to a balcony, this directly facing him, and set into the balcony was a ladder. He remembered what Tetra had said about ladders leading up to the searchlights, and began to climb. At the top of the ladder, he found a flat area enclosed almost entirely by a short bounding wall—about half his height, if he could judge—with two gaps in it only: the one by which he had entered, and another, more or less opposite. At least half of the floor space was occupied by the searchlight, mounted on a swiveling base, which had a small barrier around it to prevent the searchlight from falling off. A platform led up to the searchlight, with a place for its operator to stand. At least, Link assumed that the black-furred monster standing before it was its operator.

Link recognised the monster immediately as of the same type he had fought back on the summit at home. But back then, he had a sword. Now, he only had a shield. Good thing that the bokoblin was equipped with nothing more dangerous than a cudgel. Link noticed a pot full of similar cudgels standing nearby. Well, it was better even such a crude weapon than nothing.

Feeling that this was a thoroughly unheroic and unseemly start to his quest, he crouched down low to the ground and began to crawl towards the jar, so as not to catch the guard's attention. The guard was, thankfully, not the attentive sort, although sentry work on such a forbidding fortress was likely very dull work for an inhabitant—there were never any ships coming near enough to pose a threat. Complacence was understandable.

Reaching the pot, Link abruptly stood, swiftly reaching as far down into the pot as he could to grab the thinnest part of the club. He pulled it out far enough to reach down further for a better grip, and then held the club in both hands; he hadn't realised before how heavy it was. The bokoblin had not seemed particularly strong, but it still carried the club with ease in only one of its hands. Likely a blow from such a hand was almost as bad as being hit with the club.

Steeling himself, Link resigned himself to facing the monster armed only with a club. As he approached it, as if sensing his presence, the monster turned around, swinging the club with a twisting jump attack. Link ducked and whacked the creature in the face, then retracted the club with an effort, and, judging that it was about to jump towards him again, dodged to the right, and positioned the club so that the monster would whack himself on the head when he straightened up from the jump. The blow connected with limited force, but the monster staggered, and Link quickly whacked it on the head again.

To his surprise, as before on the summit, the monster seemed to compress into a ball of smoke, and then disappear, this time leaving behind a necklace with a giant butterfly on it. It was so vibrant—yellow, pink, and blue—that Link wondered how the monster had come by it. It did not fit his image of the sort of jewelry a monster would wear, if indeed a monster wore jewelry at all. He picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket, thinking that he could show it to someone later, and learn more about where these pendants came from.

Turning back to the searchlights, he realised that, at some point during the battle, each of the trumpet shaped horns had risen so that both searchlights pointed straight into the sky. Well, that made things simpler. But, doubtless, whoever was in charge of the fortress would soon realise that his searchlights were malfunctioning, and then Link would be found out. He had better hurry. He dropped the club and hurried to make sure that there was ground beneath the second gap of the wall.

With no better plan of attack available, Link jumped off the other side of the tower from that whence he had entered. He found himself on the winding, uncovered ramp upwards he had noticed earlier. At the other end, and sweeping at an angle over the path, was a second searchlight. Well, the plan had worked well enough so far….

Two searchlights later, Link found himself on a balcony near a covered walkway, feeling much safer with the searchlights all out. He also felt that he had a much better layout of the Fortress. The essential shape of the Fortress was that of a hexagon. A series of rooms, each with two landings over a lower level that he could only reach the other side by swinging across a lamp rope, connected covered walkways to one another. Every other room was located under a tower.

However, one room caught his attention, for rather than two doors—one the entrance, and one leading to the next covered walkway—this room had _three_ doors. He had made his best guess, judging that the door he _didn't_ have to swing on a lamp rope to get to led to the covered walkway. And he had been right. But now he was curious about that other door. He had actually made a circuit of the Fortress, as this was only the second of the joining rooms he had been in. But he found that the rooms were remarkably consistent (although the very next room had a path leading away to what seemed to be a jail, the other rooms were very straightforward).

He realised that he was running out of locations for the path to the tower, and, while slamming into walls was a disorienting experience, he had a feeling he was near to where he had begun, and the mysterious third door was his pathway _up_. He glanced back at the ladder up to the third searchlight tower, and then retraced his footsteps, cautiously swinging across the gap to the mysterious door.

Beyond was a completely different sort of room. He saw two monsters, both of the same type, but which he had never seen before, wearing blue trousers and—why not?—necklaces of orange and teal beads with skulls pendants in the centre. Each carried a jabbing spear with suspicious casualness, and each carried a lantern in the other hand. A wooden walkway curved in a circle around the room, and it was in this circle that the monsters—the moblins—trod. At the opposite end was a ramp leading to a door hidden in the wall. Or at least, Link hoped that there was a hidden door, because he was running out of locations for the tower's entrance.

Noticing that the monsters often seemed to need to pause and sniff the air around them, he guessed that their eyesight was not quite up to guard duty, and hoped that the barrels conveniently near the entrance would help mask his scent.

He pulled one over his head, as before, and began to slowly crawl, heart in his throat with the threat of those spears so near. Whenever a moblin came within his line of vision, or whenever he felt a strange sense of danger (of being _watched_, Orca would say), he immediately stopped and let the barrel settle over him, holding his breath until the moblin disappeared from sight, and the sense of danger passed. In this way, he made the slow journey, clockwise, about the edges of the room, and kept the barrel on him until the wall that had blocked the exit door from his sight hid him from view. Then, he hastily pushed open the doors and headed outside.

Outside was a balcony, initially seeming completely closed off, until he turned to look to his immediate left, whence a path led up. It put him in mind of the covered walkway he had encountered near the entrance, but this walkway was uncovered—no roof blocked out the elements, or the light from the searchlights. He was glad that he had disabled the lights; who knew what the monsters would do to any they managed to capture? The fall from such a height was rather intimidating.

Seeing a conveniently placed barrel ("what, again?" his mind demanded; this one had no logical purpose being there), he sighed, hoping that he were merely over-cautious and thorough, and that there was no real need of it. He had scarce covered himself before a sense of danger arose—he shivered, his senses heightened, and tried to slack his breath. He had the sense that the skull-wearing monsters were more dangerous than those that left behind butterfly jewelry. He wondered if, even with his sword, he would have been able to defeat this monster.

At length, the moblin turned around, swinging its lantern and spear, and began marching back whence it had come, back up the path. Link followed with great caution, hoping that this was the only guard. It was merciful that his previous experience with moblins informed him that they were not intelligent enough to question the behaviour of moving barrels—just as long as they did not see them in action, anyway.

Eventually, the moblin once more turning around to head back below informed him that the path was nearing its end. Judging as best he could his height, he suspected that he was near the top of the tower wherein his sister was being kept, and excitement crept up on him. He found himself reaching for a sword that wasn't there, and realised that he was paying dangerously little attention to his surroundings. He was almost done with his quest; Aryll was almost rescued; he would very soon go _home_.

He stilled, calming himself down sufficiently in time to avoid piquing the sentinel's suspicions. He began the now maddeningly slow crawl up to the end of the path. Through the slats, he perceived the abrupt turn of the path onto another balcony, rather like the one below. The narrow gap in the bounding wall had large holes drilled into it, and he took a moment to wonder how to pick a path across. But as he approached, laying a hand upon the hole, he felt a cool, smooth substance—like invisible glass. It must be safe to walk over, and, on the other side, he could remove the barrel—the moblins couldn't see that far, he would be out of their line of sight, and the bounding wall would hide him in any case.

He ignored the holes in the floor, and entered the balcony. There was no guard (he realised that he had assumed that there would be none on account of not hearing anything, or seeing the flicker of the lights they bore; foolishly careless of him, Orca and Sturgeon would swift agree). But with his goal, at last, in sight, he grew impatient, and perhaps justifiably careless. He turned to great double doors, wooden and several storeys high, barred with a thick square log held in place with brackets. Beyond this door must be Aryll. Fortuitously, the door itself was outside of the direct sight of the entryway; even if he had some trouble prising free the bar, he would not be seen.

He nearly tripped over the sword Orca had given him, and took a moment to feel guilty for forgetting Orca's gift; but for its personal value, there was no more need of it; the quest was nearly done. But it felt…reassuring, to return the blade to its proper place of the sheath at his side. He wondered whether it might not prove useful in opening the door, and cringed at the thought of Orca's reaction to his using the sword as a lever.

He made for the door, and was about to reach for the bar when the sound of metal against stone drew his attention to the entrance to the balcony. A green monster with an overbite suggesting a kinship with the butterfly jewelry monsters had somehow appeared at the edge of the balcony, facing him, while he had been preoccupied with the door. This one dressed quite similarly, as well, with a leather vest, and pants. Perhaps it was simply a different colour of fur of the same monster, the way ordinary people had different skin colours.

It did have, however, one decidedly non-cosmetic difference; in its hand, it bore a sword—a cutlass, he believed it was called, with an ease that suggested that it knew well how to wield such a blade—trained, perhaps, from childhood as Link had been?

He should not have relaxed. The monster came toward him, and he, grudgingly, accepted that he must go to meet it. A glance to the side told him what noise he had heard—not the drawing of the bokoblin's sword, but the springing of a trap of steel spikes, barring his only exit.

Chastising himself for his folly and impulsivity, he drew the sword and shield off from their respective places, using them in tandem for the first time.

He found that he understood more than he had given himself credit for of Orca's instruction. His shield rose, almost automatically, to block a blow from the bokoblin to his left side, and Link took the opportunity, as he knew the bokoblin's sword was occupied, to reach past and land a cut of his own across the vest, deepening as it approached the vital areas of the creature's chest.

The brevity of the battle surprised him, as the creature folded in on itself in a puff of black smoke, to be replaced with another of those butterfly pendants. He did not dare to sheathe the sword, standing still for several long moments. The spikes of the trap at the entryway did not retreat, but no new monsters appeared.

Eventually relaxing, he returned sword to sheath, but kept the shield ready in case of ambush.

Walking back towards the door, he swiftly laid a hand on the bar, and then immediately snatched it back, listening, intent on catching any sign of the enemy before they could attack. He turned to look back at the balcony. No one was there.

He reached again for the bar, and, slowly, lifted it from the brackets. It was not as heavy as he had expected. The door, despite its great size, was easy to push open, which, he supposed, made sense; it must have been the way by which the prisoners had entered, and prisoners were not known for being easy to handle. Preventing escape meant keeping the door in good working order. There was a metal grate in the middle of the room, leading down into darkness, and it immediately caught his eye. He took a second to wonder if the prisoners weren't being held down there, when he heard a familiar voice, close by:

"Link! Over here, silly! I _told_ you he would come, Mila."

His heart leapt at the sound of Aryll's voice, coming from a heretofore-unnoticed cage-like prison lining the wall to his left. Within that cage were several girls, of varying ages. There were a couple of very young children—no older than six or seven, and several girls in their teens. Some had blonde hair, some brunette, some black, and there were even a couple of redheads. Aryll, one of three preteen girls, was not within his immediate line of sight, but her sky blue dress stood out against the drabness of her prison as well as against the tamer clothes of the other girls.

Well, mostly tamer. Aryll was facing a girl of about Link's own age—maybe as young as fifteen, with long blonde hair the same colour as Aryll's or Link's, done up in a bun, with a blue headdress. She wore a salmon pink hoop skirt, and carried a hand fan.

She had the sort of personality that could always make it clear that they were looking down on you in contempt; she was definitely in the middle of doing that now, and her contempt seemed to be directed at Aryll. Link's dark blue eyes met hers, and she scoffed, and then turned away with an indifference that must be masking discomfort. Link realised, belatedly, that he was glaring at her, on account of her treatment of his younger sister.

Aryll, grinning broadly, waved at him, before beckoning him over.

"You said that he would rescue us," said Mila—the girl with the fancy clothes must be Mila, or Link would assume that she was for simplicity's sake. There was a brief pause, and then Mila finished, "He hasn't rescued us yet. Don't be so cocky."

Link was about to realise that he had no means of opening their cage (he would probably have ended up breaking through the bars, somehow), when he felt a sense of towering dread, followed by a strong wind, blowing him backwards to the mysteriously closed great doors. And the pressure of the wind only increased, driving him backwards, no matter how he try to dig in his feet into the unyielding ground….

Before he could make any plans, he saw the face of a familiar nightmare as it bore down on him, eyes gleaming yellow in its steel mask, vividly yellow talons extended, powerful wings drawn in as it plunged towards him, before he was roughly picked up in those talons, and, with a few swift wingbeats, so loud in their proximity that they drowned out Aryll's cries, and any response the blonde-haired girl, Mila, might have made, up they flew, and up, and up, while Link tried not to panic, or scream.

He focused on surveying the fortress—what he could see of it, trapped as he was in the jaws of a giant bird. He oriented himself by the bird's nest, and watched in ever-mounting dread as the bird flew towards a great shipwreck, some old wooden vessel, capsized, and then hauled up here. It now served as the home base for a man—Link couldn't see the man's face, but immediately a strong feeling of foreboding—the warning that he was in the presence of evil—filled him. Fear and dread overwhelmed him, try as he might to force them down, but he kept his eyes open, looking, watching.

The man had skin with a greenish cast to it, covered in a long, loose black robe, a robe with thick decorative bands at the cuffs and the lining. The broad body—broad from girth or muscle, he couldn't tell, but his foreboding feeling suggested the latter—was the limit of his sight. The face, the head, remained hidden, and the man remained strangely unknown.

There was a momentary silence, as he felt the weight of the man's eyes on him. He wanted to do something, but didn't know what. Perhaps what he wanted was to strike out at this man, whom he was sure was responsible for the kidnap of Aryll and all of those other girls. Perhaps he wanted to hide, or hide something?

The man spoke, and the voice was a familiar one, deep and ominous: "Get rid of him."

Link was certain he had heard that voice before, but where?

But the bird flapped his wings, and the man was hidden from sight, and the bird pitched him with its beak, far out into the sea, and he heard screaming. He was certain that it was he who screamed, but not only he. Another screamed with him. But even as the water began to approach him—to grow closer, rather than further away, he found his consciousness fading, and, despite his efforts to remain focussed, he lost consciousness.


End file.
